Tailor Made
by alynwa
Summary: Alan is reluctant to have custom made suits.  Thanks to EvilBree of Brazil for the idea!  I hope you like this and the followup.  Denny and Alan belong to DE Kelley, original characters are mine.


Tailor Made

It was one of those rare Fridays when Alan was not due in court which was a very good thing because Alan was nervous. His palms were a little sweaty and he was having a hard time keeping still and concentrating on the briefs he had been attempting to review all morning. He got up from his desk and walked to the galley. He pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and one of those microwaveable sandwiches some food vendor had convinced the Office Manager the employees of Crane Poole and Schmidt couldn't live without. Alan wasn't sure of that but, right now, he was hungry and he needed the distraction of eating to, hopefully, calm his nerves so that he could get through the rest of the day.

After reading the ingredient list and scoffing mentally at the notion that the cellophane wrapped "hamburger hero" was real beef as opposed to some questionable cow/horse/pig combination, he sighed, read the heating instructions and placed it in the microwave. Since he had nothing better to do after turning the oven on, he bent down and watched his lunch rotate and begin to sizzle. He almost jumped out of his skin when Denny clapped him on the shoulder.

"Denny! Why are you sneaking up on people? You startled me," he said with the faintest trace of annoyance in his voice. Seeing the slightly stung look on Denny's face caused Alan to feel guilty about the way he reacted. "I'm sorry, Denny," he said. Before he could say anything more, the microwave announced his lunch was ready. Taking a paper plate from the cupboard, he placed the sandwich on it and opened the wrapper. After the steam escaped, he picked it up and took a bite. After two chews, he twisted up his face and declared, "Ugh, this is _disgusting_!" before dumping the whole thing into the garbage.

Denny laughed, "I know, I tried one yesterday."

"Well, why didn't you say something?" Alan asked.

Denny shrugged his shoulders. "You might have liked it. I'm glad you didn't. Let's go to Toby's Shamrock Pub for a burger and a beer. We can talk about what kind of suits we're getting made."

Alan flinched. _Here it is, _he thought. He cleared his throat, "Yes, about that, Denny. I think it was so…_wonderful_ and kind of you to offer to have your tailor custom make suits for me but, I, I can't accept…"

Denny cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Nonsense! Of course you can accept and you will. You're at a level now where people _expect_ you to have at least one custom - made suit." Denny grabbed him by the shoulders and gently moved him through the galley door into the hallway toward the elevators. "And, because you're associated with Denny Crane," he continued grandly, "one custom – made suit isn't enough. So obviously, we need for you to have two. Stephania is expecting us tomorrow morning at ten. It's no big deal; we'll look through her catalogs and choose a style, then go through the swatches and choose the material and color, she'll take your measurements and we're out the door. We should definitely be finished by noon. Then we can go to the bookstore."

They exited the building and turned left to walk the three blocks to Toby's. Alan, despite his misgivings and inner turmoil, found himself quietly enjoying the sunny, late – spring weather that seemed to promise an equally enjoyable weekend. Denny, assuming the matter of the suits settled, had also fallen silent and ambled along in companionable silence next to his best friend. When they arrived at their destination, Alan graciously held the door for the older man to step through. Once inside, they made their way to a booth toward the far end of the bar.

Toby's Shamrock Pub was from another era entirely. No plasma TVs here blasting non-stop sports or music videos or walls covered with street signs, license plates, bras or sombreros. No Lucite chairs or fancy chandeliers adorned the space. There were no Fuzzy Navels, Irish Car Bombs, Sex on the Beach or Surfers on Acid drinks sold in this place nor were there jalapeño poppers, cheesy fries or snow crab legs eaten here. This was a quiet, neighborhood bar that sold two things to eat: Burgers cooked to order with or without cheese and French fries.

The bar was made of wood darkened by years of smoke, polish and elbow grease and it matched the wood of the floors, doors, walls, bar stools and chairs. There was sawdust on the floor and each table held a bowl of unshelled peanuts. It was tradition to throw the shells onto the floor where they were crushed into the sawdust all week, then swept up every Sunday morning and replaced with fresh sawdust for the new week.

Denny and Alan loved this place. It was a rare treat to come here for lunch because the atmosphere was made for lingering over food and drink and good conversation and their weekday lives were usually much too hectic to spend a proper amount of time there.

They ordered medium rare burgers and decided to split one order of fries. When the waitress returned with their pints, they clinked them together and drank deeply. Exhaling slowly, Alan put his glass down and said, "Denny, I need to tell you something and I don't want you to laugh. I need to explain to you why I can't go to your tailor."

Denny stopped his glass midway to his mouth. "Are you _still _going on about that? I thought…." He stopped himself. "Okay, I'm listening."

Alan looked around to make sure he could not be overheard. It was just after noon and the lunch crowd at Toby's generally packed in between one and three. Even so, Alan leaned forward so he could speak softly. "I, uh, never mentioned this to you before, or to anyone, really. My family, I mean my _parents_, were quite dysfunctional. My mother…" he swallowed and began again. "My mother was more than likely, clinically depressed. Maybe she wasn't always but, apparently, being my father's wife could do that to you. I don't remember her smiling very often, if ever, and she didn't like to be touched; at least, she didn't like to be touched by me. She never hugged me or kissed me or allowed me to hug and kiss her. When I use to try, she would pull my arms from around her or turn her face away. Eventually, I just stopped trying." Something flitted across Alan's face for a split – second but, was gone before Denny had time to identify the emotion.

"Alan, that is incredibly sad but, I fail to see what that has to do with getting a custom – made suit."

Alan sat back as the waitress placed their food on the table. He thanked her, added catsup to his burger and took a bite. Nodding approvingly at the taste, he salted some fries and popped them into his mouth. Denny ate his burger and waited to Alan to continue. After swallowing some more beer, Alan responded, "The only time my mother touched me with anything approaching affection was when she measured me for pants at the beginning of each school year. The last time was just before the start of the ninth grade. I was fourteen."

Denny started. "Fourteen? Isn't that when you lost your virginity?"

"Yes. My mother and her friend were the only women to touch me up to that point. Somehow, Denny, it's all become mixed up and sexualized in my head. Older women turn me on and so does…a woman touching my leg. Don't you see? If I allow this Stephania to take my measurements, I _will_ become aroused. I can't embarrass myself that way. Or you, for that matter. So thanks but, no thanks."

Denny finished his lunch and downed the rest of his beer. "Not to worry, my friend. I can't say I completely understand your reasons but, I _do _understand blood flow. And, Stephania _is_ a beautiful woman. Do you have this concern if a man measures you?"

"No, not at all."

Denny clapped his hands together. "Excellent! So, Giuseppe will measure you and she'll sew the suit. Problem solved. Denny Crane!"

"Who is Giuseppe?"

Denny grinned, "Her father and my original tailor. When he brought his daughter into the business, I wanted _her_ to take care of me because, after all, Denny Crane! You'd be surprised how little blood flow you get down there when there is a slightly pissed – off man sitting there watching you get measured holding a very nasty looking stitch – ripper in his hand. Since you feel so strongly, he'll measure you and handle the fittings, too, if you like."

The nervousness Alan had felt all morning washed away. "Denny," he said, "You are the best! I wonder what deity I pleased that rewarded me with a friendship like yours. Just for that, lunch is on me!"

Denny looked at his empty plate and glass. "Is lunch over already?" he asked.

Alan's face broke into a smile that made him look years younger and replied, "You know what? It's Friday and the office can wait another hour." He motioned the waitress over and ordered two more beers and another order of fries. He then proceeded to regale Denny with tales fit for a late – spring sunny afternoon.


End file.
